


Breakdown

by LouLa



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Worship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's reminded far too often of that stupid <i>you can look but you can't touch</i> rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakdown

Louis' body is something they've all noticed at one time or another. Whether that's because Louis has made it a point to draw attention to himself or if it's just their own eyes being pulled to him unbidden is really quite circumstantial. Louis likes to look good, and if not everyone agrees that he does in fact look great, then they're all in for a rough time, because if Louis doesn't look good ― doesn't believe them even when they promise he looks fantastic ― none of them are allowed to look good.

He'll go for Harry's hair first, messing it about. And then Liam's shirt, untucking it halfway while Liam tries to swat him off. And Niall's shoes, because shoes are the only article of their wardrobe Niall gives a shit about. Oddly, he generally leaves Zayn alone, likely because anyone who so much as thinks about roughing him up will lose a hand.

It's not like it really matters because the fans always love them, and the messier Harry's hair is, the more the girls scream, the more untucked Liam looks, the happier everyone else is, and it's not like anyone pays attention to Niall's shoes anyway, only Niall really cares at all that there's pink makeup smeared across the toe of his otherwise pristine white trainers. And Louis. Louis could wear a plastic sack for clothes and still look great, so Harry doesn't know what the big deal is anyway. Louis just seems to think there's always something wrong.

"Are these _too_ tight?" Louis asks Harry. They're in their hotel room, getting ready to head in to the studio, and that's really all they've got for the day so Louis' appearance should be low on the priorities list, except it's _never_ low on the list with him, so it's not at all unexpected either when Louis's standing in front of him holding his shirt up slightly and turning side to side.

"Thought there's no such thing," Harry replies.

"Well, no, but are they? They make my arse look really big, don't they?" Louis's not modest, far from it, but he's got this insecure streak that stretches a mile wide and drives everyone a little mad because he knows he looks great, he _knows_ how gorgeous he is, but some part of him needs to hear everyone else say it.

"Your arse is fantastic. I want to take a bite," Harry says, leaning forward to grab at him, and Louis glares and darts away, making Harry laugh at the pure indignation on his face.

"I look okay, then?"

He's fretting, straightening out his shirt, making it tug tight over his upper body as he settles it half over the curve of his arse. Harry can't help noticing the way it clings across his chest, his stomach, and he knows he's leering, but Louis isn't paying any attention to him anyway, so he allows himself to indulge in a lewd up-down of Louis' entire body.

"You look great," Harry says quietly, not at all surprised that his voice sounds a little wrecked, rough in his throat like he's already been singing too much, though they haven't even recorded a note yet.

Louis grins, and it's that smile that's cocky and sure, like he believes Harry completely, knows that Harry truly thinks he looks good. "Keep it in your pants, Styles."

"Don't honestly know if I can, with you looking like that," Harry teases. Louis' smile widens further, not forced in the slightest, and he's got that natural mischievous glint in his eye.

"I'm hard to resist," Louis says, sweeping his hands along his sides and cocking his hip. "All the ladies want a piece."

"It's too bad for them that you're–" He cuts himself off before 'mine' slips out. Louis notices and gives him a curious look. "Taken," Harry finishes lamely, giving Louis a strained smile.

"Yeah, tragic. Can look but can't touch," Louis says.

_I know_ , Harry thinks miserably.

―

"I'm getting fat," Louis practically wails as he throws himself dramatically onto Harry's bed.

"What?" Harry asks, confused as he glances away from the screen of his laptop to Louis sprawled beside him.

"My stomach is ridiculous, Hazza, why aren't you making me go to the gym? Empty out the booze cabinet and throw away all the chocolate, we're going on a diet."

Harry just stares at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

Louis groans and rolls over onto his front, climbing onto his knee and bringing himself close to Harry. He pushes his shirt up his chest and tucks it beneath his chin, pushing his abdomen out exaggeratedly. Harry swallows and tries not to stare too hard at the smooth expanse of Louis' waist, the dusting of hair that trails from his bellybutton below the waistband of his low-riding joggers. He's pantsless, Harry can already tell from how low his trousers sit without a hint of anything besides skin showing below. He shifts the laptop further into his lap and swallows, waiting for Louis to, just... do something. Anything. So he can look away from the the frankly pornographic image on display in front of him.

"Look at it! It's like I'm about to give birth," Louis cries, squeezing at the bit of extra skin around his tummy.

Harry laughs, because he doesn't have any idea what else he should do at this point. He wants to lay Louis out on his bed and show him just how much Harry appreciates his hot little body, but that's hardly an option. He's reminded far too often of that stupid _you can look but you can't touch_ rule. He wishes Louis wouldn't make it so fucking hard to keep his hands to himself. He wants to go just one day without Louis' thighs or arse or belly or ridiculous arms in his face.

"You look great," he mumbles at Louis' squawk of offense that Harry is laughing. At least he's finally let his shirt fall back into place.

"Wow, convincing. Truly convincing. I feel so much better about myself now," Louis grumbles, voice rising as it always does when he gets upset, or pretends that he's upset, or wants to be upset. Louis is always quite loud, really. Harry never knows when it's put on and when it's real. Based on the look Louis has on his face, his offense is not at all contrived.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Come sit down with me and watch this film, yeah?" Harry says, patting the space beside him. It's a terrible film and he's missed a good ten minutes of it now, but he just wants Louis to stop talking about his body so Harry can stop thinking about it, wanting it.

"You think I'm fat," Louis intones. Harry rolls his eyes hard and reaches forward to grab Louis' shirt, yanking him forward so he's half on top of Harry when he tips off balance. The laptop nearly falls off of his lap, but it's worth it to have Louis pressed half into his chest, his arm tight around Louis' shoulders, and his face pressed into the top of Louis' head.

"I do not think you're fat. I think you're perfect, and you know it's true," Harry mumbles into his hair, kissing it and hugging Louis closer.

He can feel Louis' smile against his neck and he moves his hand down to Louis' back as Louis shifts forward to nuzzle the side of Harry's face, climbing up beside him to snuggle close. "But I am getting a bit out of shape."

Harry keeps his arm around Louis' back, hand curled around his side, lets his fingers trail over the small little curve of Louis' tummy. "I would lick every last inch of your body and enjoy each second of it."

He can see Louis' smile out of the corner of his eye, and he squeezes his hand against Louis' hip once, watching as Louis' tongue darts out to lick his lips. "Thanks," he just barely whispers, and Harry doesn't have a chance to respond before Louis's pulling the laptop into his own lap, saying, "What the hell are you even watching, I'm not watching this."

―

Harry comes awake with a groan, shrugging away from the pressure at his shoulder. "Harry, I'm going for a run," he hears whispered near his ear.

He grunts and shoves his face further into his pillow, blocking out the light that's streaming in through the windows. It's too early to be awake, he can feel it.

"Harry," Louis repeats, shaking Harry's shoulder again.

"Alright," Harry says loudly, early-morning irritated, grumpy for no reason except he just wants to _sleep_ so _shut up already_.

"Are you coming with me?" Louis asks, sounding more than a little hopeful, just enough on this side of ' _I-know-I'll-get-my-way_ ' that it pisses Harry off more.

"Clearly not, since I'm _sleeping_ ," Harry replies testily. "Shove off," he adds, flinching away from Louis' hand that's still on his shoulder.

"I'll go for longer if you're with me."

"Don't bloody care. You can leave now."

"Harry, please," Louis begs. "What if I get mugged while I'm running. How will you ever forgive yourself if _something happens to me_ because you made me go all alone."

Harry twists his head around to glare at Louis, regretting it immediately when the blinding sun is in his eyes. When he adjust to the brightness enough for him to see, it's Louis bathed in sunlight and dressed head to toe in clothing that's so ridiculously tight, Harry thinks he can count Louis' chest hairs. "What the fuck are you wearing?" he groans.

"Jogging clothes. Come on, up. I want to go now and you're already slowing me down."

It's useless, really. Fighting. If Louis wants something, he's going to get it, and Harry doesn't know why he even bothers trying to resist. The problem is that he's a bit nude and Louis' thighs are a little too in his face for him not to have noticed them and well, it's the morning and he was probably half-hard before Louis woke him up.

"Alright, fine. Go get me a bottle of water ready," he says in an attempt to make Louis _go away_ so he can crawl out of bed without his dick getting any further ideas about Louis' arse.

"Do you think I'm new? You'll just go back to sleep if I leave you here alone. Come on, Curly, up and at 'em."

With a groan, he rolls over and keeps a hand in his lap to be sure the blanket doesn't slip off. Louis doesn't look away, just stares pointedly at Harry. _I tried_ , Harry thinks as he shoves the duvet aside. He expects something, a joke, a cheeky comment, but there isn't one. Harry looks up and he sees Louis' cheeks have gone red, and he's looked away, but obviously not before he'd taken a look at Harry's cock, seen it hard. Harry briskly crosses the room to his laundry basket and grabs the first t-shirt he finds there and a pair of loose shorts.

Louis is unexpectedly quiet as Harry pulls on his socks and leads the way down the corridor. He disappears when Harry's slipping on some shoes, and comes back looking a little stricken. Harry shrugs off the tense feeling in his stomach and ties the knot in his shorts tighter. "Ready then?" he asks.

Louis hands him a bottle of water and nods, lips pressed together in a thin line. Whatever his problem is, Harry hopes he manages to lose it when they're out running. He's not up for dealing with any moodiness today, not after being woken up at the arsecrack of dawn.

"You first, I'd hate to slow you down." Harry's quip is met with more silence, and he just shakes his head at Louis' back as he jogs down the stairs leading out to the main road.

It's really not all that early, but it's still relatively quiet. It's nice to be able to get out of the flat and do normal things like go for a run, and Harry is thankful for the gated community, where mostly they go ignored. But the quiet starts to eat at him eventually because Louis is a chatterbox and it's not at all like him to go quiet, even when they're running. He usually jabbers himself breathless and has to stop ten times so he doesn't pass out from the lack of oxygen. Today he hasn't said a word.

"Okay, I want a rest," Harry says, slowing down to a walk with his hands on his hips. Louis slows too, though he doesn't turn around, just keeps walking on. Harry reaches out and catches his arm, pulling him to a standstill and turning him to face Harry head-on. "What's eating you, grumpy?" Harry asks.

Louis just shrugs, says, "Nothing," and kicks at the ground. "Just really into it, I guess."

"Right," Harry says dubiously. "Since when do you get really into running, Lou? What's up?" He wraps his arm around Louis' waist and pulls him into his side, staring after Louis in confusion when he pulls away and jogs off.

"Nothing, really. Come on, I'll race you back."

Harry pushes his concern aside at the challenge, letting Louis keep his lead so Harry can stare at his arse until the very last minute when he charges ahead and beats Louis to the stairs. They shove into each other on their way up, knocking elbows and getting too rough. Harry slows immediately when Louis stumbles over a step in his haste, and then regrets it because Louis laughs manically and darts ahead. Harry pushes forward wildly, not slowing even as they round the corner that comes just before their flat. He crashes into Louis' back and shoves him up against the door, drawing a startled squeak from his mouth.

"I win!" Louis crows.

Harry growls. "No, you're not inside yet, you don't bloody win."

Louis laughs, twisting and kicking when Harry grabs him around the waist and pulls him away. He hauls him back and spreads his arms wide to block Louis' path when he tries to get around Harry again. Harry flings the door open, about to step in when Louis throws himself through the opening, practically diving to the floor. He clips Harry's knees on his way past, and Harry goes down with him, falling on top of him.

"I still win," Louis yells triumphantly, and Harry says, "Do not. That was cheating."

And Louis laughs and squirms beneath Harry, shouting his victory and pumping his fists in the air. Harry catches his wrists, pins him down and keeps saying, _No, no you don't. No. Nononono._ While Louis insists _yes. Yes, yes, and yes. A million times yes,_ and he just keeps squirming, writhing away beneath Harry, pushing up against his hold as he laughs, and _laughs_. Harry kisses him just to shut him up, he can't stand to hear it anymore, and his mouth meets teeth. Louis just keeps laughing until Harry lets go of his wrists and moves to grab at Louis' hips instead, fingers pushing under his too-tight shirt to span across his sides, thumbs stroking over the soft of his stomach. Harry kisses him harder, makes Louis go still and quiet, makes Louis kiss him back and then he pulls away.

Louis' eyes are on Harry's, his mouth slack, and he's just breathing ― just breathing and staring. "I win," Harry says, pushing his hands further beneath Louis' shirt, fingers spread wide over his ribcage.

"You could at least close the door before you start humping each other," he hears from behind him. Zayn is standing there when Harry looks over his shoulder, Niall beside him with an ice lolly jammed in his mouth. Niall just shakes his head and steps over their legs; Zayn waits to come in until they've stood up and straightened themselves out a bit.

"You're just jealous you don't get pinned down by Harry Styles," he hears Louis say jokingly to Zayn, daringly reaching up to swipe his fingers through Zayn's hair. "Or is it me you want all helpless beneath you, Zayner my boy."

"Oh, Louis!" Zayn cries, his voice gone high. Harry watches Zayn chase Louis around, watches Louis spin out of reach of his hold, and watches Zayn let him get away each time in a way that Harry could never make himself do. If Louis's close enough to touch, Harry's going to. Looking's not enough; it never has been.

―

Harry's honestly already asleep when Louis sneaks in that night, turning up the corner of the duvet to crawl in with Harry. "I need a snuggle," Louis says, giving no other explanation and not needing to for Harry to wrap him up in his arms, hands settled over the soft expanse of his stomach.

―

Even though Harry almost expects it to, nothing changes until they're back on tour again, on the road and in the air five days of the week. It's exciting and it's fun, but it's exhausting and they all need a little extra support at times like this. They're lucky to have each other for that, all of them plenty comfortable with every member of the band to show when they need something and accept what's offered in return.

Naturally, Louis comes to Harry more often than not, and vice versa. They rely on each other for so much, too much some of the times, probably. But Harry has never been able to tell Louis no, and he wouldn't want to anyway. If Louis needs him, needs something, needs _anything_ , Harry will do his very best to provide it. It's just that Louis doesn't exactly feel the same in that regard. He can tell Harry no, he can say stop, and he will tell Harry when he thinks it's gone too far.

The tour bus makes for close quarters and no privacy, and while Harry is more than open, completely willing to share everything about himself with the boys ― who already know most things about him, know more than they want to ― sometimes it just gets to be too much. When Louis is still wide awake at three AM and Harry just wants to sleep or Harry wants to roughhouse and Louis is in one of his snappish moods. The other boys are accommodating, always willing to step in when it's required of them, but the need for some alone time grows more and more urgent the longer they're on tour.

Harry gets so frustrated, he can hardly stand it. It's too much to have to see Louis constantly, every minute of every day without any reprieve and know that he will stop Harry before things can be pushed too far. Harry just wants something, anything, and hearing Liam on the phone with Danielle, seeing Niall hanging all over a despondent-looking Zayn, makes it all worse. He wants to get away from Louis to maybe get some much needed peace and quiet, at the same time that he needs to crawl into Louis' space, fit his hands over his hips and pull him close, closer, too close. He needs to get away from Louis to clear his head of this all-encompassing desire to be the only thing that Louis ever thinks about, and he wants to take off all of Louis' clothes and point out every imperfection that he loves more than anything else in the entire world.

It's enough to drive him insane. He's tired, but he can't sleep, this energy thrumming through his veins like he's just come off stage but that was hours and hours ago and they've already crossed one state line into another, and soon he won't have any idea where they are ― though he's not even completely sure now. Everyone else is asleep and after another hour of feeling so restless, he kicks away his blankets and shoves open the curtain to throw himself onto the couch in the common area instead.

He's miserable. He wants Louis but he can't have him, and yet it feels sometimes like he's got more of him than anyone else ever will. He wants to call Louis his, and most of the time he already does, but it's not in the way he needs it to be, because there's still that rule that Harry breaks at every chance he gets. He wants and he needs, and his mind is only ever on Louis anymore, thinking about kissing him and touching him and always, always being the one to be there for him when he needs someone. But he can't have it, can't have any of it, not more than he's already taken because soon he's going to break them both and then there won't be much hope left for any of them.

"What are you doing up?" Louis asks quietly, padding over to the couch to sit on the very edge of it next to Harry's hip. The couch is too narrow as it is, so Louis is more or less sitting on him, and Harry's hand goes to his side, smoothing over his bare stomach.

"Can't sleep," he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.

He knew Louis would come, would _somehow_ know that Harry was hurting, feel it in his bones or whatever it was they have, this thing that thrums in them and lets them know when the other just isn't okay. And it's the fact that they both feel it, this draw to the other, that frustrates Harry so much. If Louis feels _that_ too then he must feel some of the other things that Harry does. So why is it always no. _No no no._

"Come cuddle me, that'll put you right to sleep," Louis says, sweeping his thumb back and forth where it rests over Harry's wrist.

Harry shakes his head. He needs some distance right now. It's what he wants, if he can't have what he _really_ wants, this infuriating boy halfway in his lap. If he can't have Louis, then he wants to stop wanting him so much, needing him. "Go back to bed, Lou."

"Not without you." Louis leans back, tips over so he's sprawled on top of Harry. It's uncomfortable in the same way that it isn't. Louis' hip digging painfully into Harry's side feels just as right as the soft of his skin beneath Harry's palms. "Can't ever sleep without you."

Harry shakes his head again, pained. "Why do you say things like that? Why does it always feel like you're saying yes, when you tell me no?"

"What?" Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head one final time, nudging Louis' hip with his knuckles. "Nothing. I'm just tired. Think I need a drink or something. Just go to bed, yeah, I'll be 'round in a bit.”

Louis doesn't move from where he is, other than to shift so they're laying front to front. His skin is so sleep-warm beneath Harry's hands, the small of his back almost feels like it's on fire. Harry pulls him impossibly closer, and Louis nuzzles into his neck, sighing.

“I'm gonna sleep here, okay?” Louis says.

As always, Harry can't say no. He just lets himself settle, slips his fingertips beneath the band of Louis' pajama bottoms and tries to stop thinking. “I can't do this anymore,” he whispers.

He thinks Louis doesn't hear him, and that's fine, he'd rather have Louis not acknowledge it than have him saying that it's all going to be okay.

His breath catches in his throat when Louis' lips move against his throat, saying, “I know.” He presses a kiss there, just lightly and Harry closes his eyes tighter, turning his head to kiss Louis' temple. “Just sleep now,” Louis says. “Everything will be better in the morning.”

Harry doubts it, but he listens anyway, does as Louis asks. As usual.

―

Nothing's different in the morning, except Harry feels more on edge. Louis is watching him carefully, acting the same as he usually does and not bringing up the night before. Harry doesn't know what to do. He feels like he should start pushing Louis away at some point, to maybe get past this thing they've got, but instead he just holds onto him more tightly, clutching at him like he's a lifeline.

They do a show that night, and Harry struggles the same way he always does not to stare at Louis, so proud and so in love. He can't help how he migrates toward him, drawn to him like a magnet. Everything is such a rush, and as he's up there, singing their songs, he forgets for a while how strained things have been.

After, he promises to himself that he'll at least try to separate from Louis for the night. They've got five rooms booked, same as always, though it's never likely all of the will be used. Louis and Harry share almost every time.

Harry decides he'll go to Niall's room, pretend to accidentally fall asleep early there. Niall is always happy to share, so there's that, and Harry won't feel like he's intruding on anyone. But Niall doesn't come up to open his room, hanging out at the bar with Zayn instead, and Harry doesn't really have a choice but to go into his own room.

The shower's nice here, huge and open; the soap smells good, and Harry spends a ridiculous amount of time just standing beneath the water, hoping that if Louis shows up, he'll get bored and go down to the bar with the others.

That's not the case, of course. Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed when Harry comes out of the bathroom, his phone in one hand and a bottle of booze in the other. Harry feels even worse at the sight of the phone, knows who Louis is likely texting or tweeting with. He looks up from the phone and grins at Harry, wagging the bottle at him temptingly.

“I just really want to go to bed, actually,” Harry says.

It hardly dampens Louis' spirits. He doesn't even fight, just says, “Okay,” and throws his phone and the bottle on the side table and kicks his shoes off.

“You should go have a drink with the boys,” Harry suggests. He thinks he's being obvious, feels like it must be written all over his face that he wants some time alone. But Louis is either choosing to ignore it or completely oblivious.

“I'm really tired too,” Louis replies. He glances in Harry's direction as he pulls his shirt over his head and pushes back the duvet.

Harry doesn't have it in him to say anything else, just drops the towel he has secured around his waist and slips into the bed.

“Mm, naked cuddling, me likey,” Louis says ridiculously as he flips the light off and flails his way into the bed, bouncing around like a goddamn toddler, and Harry can't help laughing a little bit. He's cut short when Louis' hand is on his chin, tilting his head to the side. His lips press against the corner of Harry's mouth and he whispers there, “Don't shut me out.”

Harry twists his head away. “I'm not,” he mutters.

“Yes, you are. Don't you think I can feel it?”

Harry sighs, and Louis presses his lips to Harry again, half to his cheek and half on the mouth, like he can't quite decide how far he wants to push.

"I can't do this stupid shuffle any more, Louis. I'm so tired of you not knowing what you want," Harry grumbles.

Louis shakes his head slightly, presses his mouth closer to Harry's. "I know what I want, but I don't think I can have it, don't think I deserve to, really."

"You're so– You're so fucking frustrating," Harry snaps, pulling out from beneath Louis' mouth, the implication of his words. "I just want you to stop jerking me around. I hate how stupid you make me feel. It's like one minute–"

Harry's rant is cut off mid-sentence when Louis' mouth covers his own, kissing hard and demanding. He pushes himself closer, slipping on top of Harry beneath the blankets, and Harry sputters, tucking his chin. “What are you doing?”

“What I want,” Louis answers simply, tipping Harry's head back again to continue kissing him.

Harry pushes him away, shoves him off hard enough to get him on his back, ignoring the displeased protests of _Harry. Harry,_ falling from his mouth, and then further ignoring the quiet, happy, _yes_ sound he makes against Harry's ear when Harry rolls atop him. He pushes himself up and away enough to flip the lamp on, and nearly tips over the edge of the bed in his haste, kept in place only by Louis' steadying hand at his lower back.

With the room brightened enough to see, Harry stares down at Louis searchingly, but he doesn't get much from the even, open expression on Louis' face. “What are you doing?” Harry asks again.

“I told you.”

“But what's changed?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, shrugging. “Everything.”

Harry groans at the non-answer. “Lou.”

“I thought you were okay with how things were, but everything's been getting so much harder. I guess I didn't want to see what it was doing to you, but I swear, Haz, I never meant for you to feel stupid or like I was jerking you around.”

Harry tips his chin down again, confused, and Louis widens his thighs, letting Harry slip between them before he lightly cups Harry's jaw and tilts his head back up. “Hey, look at me,” Louis whispers. “What is it?”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asks. He doesn't understand, can't even begin to. Up until now, they've never talked about any of this, and why Louis has suddenly decided to change his mind is a mystery to Harry. It doesn't make sense.

Louis stares firmly into his eyes and says, “Because I want to. If you don't, that's fine, but I'm tired of pretending.”

“Is that what you've been doing?” Harry questions, narrowing his eyes dubiously.

“What else would I have been doing?”

The way he says it, so direct and earnest, makes Harry feel like he's been blind this whole time for not noticing, not realizing. He can feel his jaw clenching as he swallows thickly and Louis pulls him down into a hug.

“Oh, god, Hazza. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he says, palms soothing over Harry's back. Harry shakes his head but Louis just shushes him, continues on as he keeps rubbing Harry's back. “I never wanted to– I hated having to say no, but I didn't know what else to do.”

And all Harry can think is _why now, why now; what changed, what changed,_ but he shakes it away, because he doesn't want it to matter. If Louis is saying yes now, then maybe that should be all that counts.

“I'm sorry,” Louis says again, and this time Harry shakes his head more firmly, pulling out of Louis' hold enough to meet his eyes again.

Louis' hands still their comforting, resting against Harry's ribs as they simply stare at each other, like it's going to do either of them any good to just _look_. Somehow, it seems to, though. It's strange to think that Harry's been looking into Louis' eyes long enough to know that something's changed now, can see it there, and when Louis' fingers tighten against his skin, digging in, he doesn't have to ask, because he's certain this time that Louis won't push him away.

Harry gives in to the pressure of Louis' urging hands and kisses him. And _God_ , it's just ― _God_. It's not like their other kisses, from earlier and the times before that, this is something new altogether. Without a doubt, it's _more_ than any of those other kisses.

Harry regrets pulling out of the kiss for the way Louis tries to follow him up, keep them together, and then the whine that he makes when their lips do part. But he feels like he has to. He has to say something, because he's scared if he doesn't, it'll be too late. He doesn't know what he'd do if he found out he was misunderstanding and Louis had to stop him. He can't even think about how he'd cope if Louis changed his mind.

“Why are you stopping?” Louis asks.

“Because I have to,” Harry starts, tripping over his words and starting again. “I need to know, can we really– Are we doing this?”

Louis doesn't hesitate, just nods and squeezes tight over Harry's hips, where his hands have settled. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, Haz, we are.”

Harry rushes forward, pushing Louis back into the pillows with a harsh kiss, and then pulls back again to take a breath, shaking that urge off. He doesn't want to rush, doesn't want to be frantic, though he thinks he deserves to be after all this time. But it's not how he wants to do this.

He rolls onto his side, brings Louis with him, and starts kissing him again like that, facing each other on equal ground. Louis smiles into the kiss and wraps his arm around Harry's back, pulls him in closer, while his other hand goes above their heads, playing with Harry's damp curls. Harry nudges at the waistband of Louis' trousers, and helps as Louis tries to wiggle them off. Even as they're giggling stupidly, their mouths stay pressed together, Louis kissing harder the more frustrated he gets with kicking them off.

It's so easy to kiss like that ― just mouths moving together and touching slowly, Harry mapping out the places he's never been with his fingertips. No expectations and no hurry. Tomorrow's an off day and they have nothing to do but catch up on sleep. He could kiss Louis forever.

If it wasn't for the fact that Harry could feel Louis in the same state, he'd be embarrassed at how quickly he gets hard from just kissing alone. But with Louis there with him, the hot press of his cock against Harry's hip, he's content. They both are, perfectly happy to do nothing more than snog each other stupid, hips tipping forward for the barest amounts of friction before easing back again.

Harry kisses Louis until he can't anymore, mouth sore and lungs tight. Without the connection between their lips, Harry feels restless, needing to touch more. He pushes Louis onto his back again, and rocks up onto his knees over him. The blanket falls from his shoulders, and they both gasp when Harry wraps his hand around Louis' cock.

Louis' fingers dig into Harry's thigh, his grasp tightening when Harry does nothing more than just _hold_ Louis in his hand, learning the shape of him and feeling the throb of need that pulses beneath his skin.

“Harry, you fuck, you have to–” Louis starts to say, and Harry cuts him off by finally moving ― up and then down, pulling back the foreskin as he goes. Pre-come spills over, slicking Harry's finger and he rubs them through it, spreading it around, grinning when Louis huffs out a breath, hips pressing up uselessly against Harry's weight holding him down. “You're a prick tease,” Louis accuses, reaching out to get his own hand around Harry's cock, but Harry knocks it aside, leaning forward to kiss him quiet as he plays some more, pleased every time he finds something that makes Louis twitch.

As he sits back again, he lets his free hand wander while the other continues to work Louis over slowly, still cataloging his reactions for future reference. He can tell already, Louis doesn't like it slow, but Harry has no intentions of speeding up either, not yet. His hand trails Louis' chest, through his minimal chest hair, over his tightened nipples, and then lower, down to the soft flesh of his stomach.

Harry can't resist shifting his own hips forward then, lining his cock up alongside Louis' and making his hand fit around the both of them, jacking just as slowly as before while he traces down to Louis' hip and up again. He grips at Louis' side, thumb leaving an indent where it presses in against his belly. Harry jerks forward, hand speeding up, and Louis brings his own there, fingers tangling with Harry's around their cocks.

It's over surprisingly fast from there. Harry didn't mean for it to be, thought he'd get Lou off in his own good time and whatever happened from there was fine with him, but leaning over Louis, both if their hands working to bring them off, Harry's palm spanning across the smooth divot at Louis' hip, he can't hold back. He spills over the clasp of their fingers, groaning at the sight of his come striping white along the tan of Louis' stomach.

Louis follows quickly after, and Harry struggles to work them both through it, whimpering at Louis' hand still holding tightly onto his oversensitive cock.

Harry collapses sideways onto the mattress beside Louis, keeping one leg thrown over his. It makes it harder to catch his breath, but he can't stop kissing Louis, his face and his hair and his neck. He can feel Louis' smile against his lips when he turns his head to catch Harry in a kiss, and after that, they just lay pressed together, breathing, and Harry aimlessly drawing his fingers through the mess on Louis' belly, pinching at it until Louis is forcefully knocking his hand away and telling him to stop.

Smirking, Harry slips lower, leaving a wet kiss to Louis' shoulder as he moves down the bed. He plants his hands on Louis' hips when he starts to squirm, giving Harry a questioning look that verges on threatening.

“What are you doing?” he asks blandly, feigning boredom, like Harry can't see the way Louis' eyes are tracking each and every one of his movements.

Without giving a verbal response, Harry leans down and licks up the length of Louis' stomach. Louis looks frankly shocked, his eyes popped open wide and his mouth gapping slightly. And yeah, it's salty and bitter and it tastes like come, but that's beside the point because this right here is the exact reason Harry has ended up in this mess. Louis' goddamn stomach.

He digs his fingers in harder, licking again and sucking a kiss into the skin just beside Louis' bellybutton. He pulls a bit of skin into his mouth and bites down on it and Louis hisses, shoving at his head. “What are you doing, you freak?”

There's a red mark left behind and Harry leans in to lick over it again, darts his head lower, closer to Louis' hip, to leave another. His hips jolt, and Harry has to grip at him, laughing when Louis curses loudly.

“Love your tummy,” he mumbles into his latest mark, and Louis grabs a handful of his hair to tilt his head back.

“You really are a weirdo,” he says, but it's fond and Harry smiles, pinching at the soft skin at Louis' middle again, making him scowl. “You can stop now.”

“Nope,” Harry sighs, rubbing his face into it. “Sleeping here.”

“Fucking creep.” Harry laughs, bites again, and Louis' hips stutter up this time. “You could go lower,” Louis suggests.

Harry grins, filthy, licks into the dip of Louis' navel and asks, “How's that?”

“Idiot,” is all Louis says, tucking his hand into Harry's curls and closing his eyes. Harry nuzzles in. He'll go lower later, but for right now, he's content to stay right where he is.


End file.
